


Good as New

by sixtysevenlmpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, High School, M/M, Minor Violence, Protective Dean Winchester, Samulet, Samulet Fic, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:42:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtysevenlmpala/pseuds/sixtysevenlmpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an asshole at Dean and Sam's high school breaks Dean's amulet, he doesn't react well. But as always, Sam's there to make it better. Written for <a href="http://dimplesandguncalluses.tumblr.com">Anna</a> who asked for "something with the samulet". Originally posted on <a href="http://sixtysevenlmpala.tumblr.com/post/47119372621/so-yesterday-i-was-stuck-for-something-to-write">tumblr</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good as New

Dean’s already having a shitty day. It’s one of the days where his dad actually made him go into school even though they both know he’ll spend the day avoiding lessons and being a general smartass, so of course his mood’s not going to be great. He could be out hustling pool or charming a feisty blonde in a bar into thinking he’s older than eighteen. But he’s not.

So yeah, when some kid in the grade below deliberately bumps his shoulder in the hallway, accompanies it with a sneer of, “You wanna watch where you’re going, pretty boy,” Dean’s not in the best frame of mind to deal with it politely.

He does restrain himself a little, though, manages to feign indifference: “Yeah, okay. Let’s just not go there today, pipsqueak,” but this kid – Andy, Dean thinks his name is – grabs him by the scruff of his neck when he turns around to leave, and hauls him back. Dean spins around, glaring. His mind automatically performs a basic risk assessment; Andy is about a head shorter than Dean, maybe more, and he’s pretty big in a way that suggests some pretty hefty muscles hidden under those layers of fat. He’s got small, piggy eyes, and the irony of that makes Dean smirk a little. Risk factor? Zero.

“What the hell did you call me?” he demands, and Dean’s smirk grows a tiny bit.

“Look, kid,” he begins, keeping his voice low, but there’s already a small crowd of people gathering around them. “I don’t think you wanna get into this with me.”

“So what if I do?” Andy asks snidely. “I’m sorry, am I supposed to be scared of you or something? I’ve seen you around – Dean, right? The guy who walks around like he’s so much better than everyone else.” He advances closer to Dean, obviously expecting him to back up, but Dean just stands there, looks down at him with one eyebrow raised. “Maybe you need to be taken down a peg or two.”

“Maybe you need to lay off the Lucky Charms,” Dean mutters. “Go blow off your steam somewhere else, kiddo, will ya? Got better things to do.” Dean rolls his eyes and turns to leave.

The words, “What, like go hang out with your freak little brother?” are what make him stop.

He storms right up to Andy, grabbing him by the collar and hissing, “What was that about my brother?”

Even with Dean almost lifting him off the floor, Andy gave a smug chuckle and narrowed his little eyes at Dean. “He’s the little weird one, isn’t he,” he says. “In the library all the time, doesn’t talk to no one. Heard him muttering the other day about monsters. _Banshees_ ,” he laughs. “Your brother some kind of whack job, Winchester?”

Dean clenches his jaw and shoves Andy hard enough for him to go stumbling backwards. His hand absent-mindedly drifts up to his chest, fingertips tracing over the amulet around his neck.

“Pretty big move for a guy who wears jewellery,” Andy snickers, dusting himself off, but Dean and everyone else can see he’s more than a little shaken. “Where’d you get that piece of junk, huh? Thrift store? Or did your freak-show baby brother get it for you?”

Dean’s glare is blazing and dangerous, and he mutters in a strained voice, “I don’t have time for this.” He moves forward abruptly, pushing past Andy and budging him out of the way with his shoulder, but Andy’s obviously expecting it because he doesn’t move – instead darts a hand out and sharply yanks the little piece of gold at Dean’s chest. There’s a _snap_ that Dean swears he feels in his bones, and suddenly the familiar, soothing weight around his neck is gone.

“See? Cheap,” Andy laughs meanly, “looks like y’all are as poor as you are crazy,” and he’s clutching it like it’s his, like he has any _right_.

Dean seethes, his eyes narrowing menacingly. “You didn’t wanna do that.”

Logically, Dean knows that he could easily grab it out of his hands and escape without incident, just as easily as he could get a new cord for it soon. But this guy, this _kid_ , he’s still holding the amulet in his pudgy, ignorant little fist, and he _broke_ it, he broke that one thing that links Sammy’s heart directly to Dean’s and back again, no matter what else is going on.

He _broke_ it, and all Dean sees is red. Red for love, red for danger, red for blind and mindless rage – all of it piles on top of him and he just heaves it straight onto Andy. He swings his fist without even thinking about it, punches him square in the nose, and that sickening crunch of bone and cartilage resounds all the way up Dean’s arm, makes him shiver.

Andy’s still reeling when Dean lands the second, and the third-fourth-fifth. The sixth or seventh – Dean’s not sure, but it’s an uppercut that ploughs straight into his gut – has him on the floor, and Dean’s only just restraining himself from launching himself down there with him. He thinks vaguely that if he did that, he wouldn’t be able to pull himself away until the bastard was unconscious.

As it is, he’s dazed and cowering, letting out these pathetic little whimpers, so Dean lands a simple, neat kick to his kidneys, crouches down and plucks the amulet from his now-limp hand. He pats the side of his face and smiles. “I did warn you,” he muttered, pocketing the amulet on its snapped cord and standing up.

There’s a huge gathering of people circled around him, and every single one of them stares at him like he’s a monster. His mouth twitches at that thought, because if only they knew.

***

Later, Dean’s under the bleachers, sitting in a bored slump on the floor but propped up against the wall. He’s been down here for a while now – knows there are lessons he should be in, knows most of the teachers are about ready to put out a nationwide warrant for his arrest.

At first, he thinks they’ve finally tracked him down when he hears footsteps descending, but they’re too light, too tentative, and he thinks Sammy a moment before a familiar voice calls, “Dean?”

“Sam,” he says in acknowledgement as his brother pauses on the steps. “Why aren’t you in class?”

“Why aren’t _you?_ ” Sam shoots back.

And yeah, okay, it’s a fair point. Except, not really, because he’s pretty sure _Sam_ hasn’t pissed off any teachers or gotten himself into any kind of trouble recently. It’s not him. He’s the one who keeps his head down and somehow gets the A’s – Dean’s just the brawn who continually fucks up. “I’ve got a legitimate reason,” he tells him pointedly.

Sam drops down into the half-dark and sits himself on the floor next to Dean, even though it’s probably dirty as hell, and Dean wants to tell him not to. Sam’s a lot better than sitting in dingy places like this with Dean. He doesn’t say it, though. Sam nudges him with his shoulder. “Knew you’d be here,” he offers as an explanation, and Dean doesn’t question it. “And yeah, heard there was a fight. Heard it involved you. Not that I really needed telling.” He sounds vaguely disapproving, like a put-upon mother in charge of a problem child, but mostly just interested.

“He was a dick,” Dean explains, thorough as always. “Talked shit about _you_ , Sammy. I couldn’t just… let him. Wasn’t right.” The words come out angrier than he means them to, and he’s glad they’re in the dark so that he can hide the faint blush spreading over his cheeks.

“What did he say?” Sam asks, his voice all soft and vulnerable.

“It’s not important.” There’s a little pause where Sam tilts his head to the side and leans it on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean slips an arm behind him to ghost his fingers through the tufty hair at the nape of Sam’s neck. Dean clenches his jaw. “I should have ripped his fuckin’ _lungs out_ ,” he spits viciously.

Sam simply says a quiet, “Dean.”

Dean clears his throat. “He broke my fuckin’ amulet, Sammy.”

Sam pulls back to look him in the face, eyes wide and hurt. “ _What?_ ” he gapes.

“No, I mean, just… just the cord. But. Still.” Dean sighs, fishing the amulet out of his pocket and handing it over to Sam to inspect.

“Oh,” Sam breathes, one sound all wrapped up in a quiet laugh of relief.

Dean still can’t wipe the scowl from his face, because yeah, it’s not as bad as it could’ve been, but it’s still _broken_ – he’s still responsible for getting it ruined. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles gruffly at his lap, flinching at the shame that spikes inside him.

“Idiot,” Sam murmurs – which is basically what Dean was expecting in all his self-deprecation, but he’s saying it fondly with a smile in his voice that remains there as he assures Dean, “it’ll be fine.”

He shifts next to Dean and reaches his skinny arms around his neck, and at first Dean thinks he’s going to hug him, has a hand sliding around his waist to reciprocate, but instead he can feel him fiddling at the nape of his neck – tying a knot in it, Dean realises, and his heart gives a weak clench.

“There, see,” Sam says. “Good as new.”

Dean’s head is tilted down, mouth inches away from Sammy’s and foreheads touching, so it only makes sense that his reply is to lift his chin up and find Sam’s lips in the dark. Sam sighs against his mouth, a pretty sound that makes Dean’s eyes flutter closed every time. He holds Sam close as the kiss deepens and heats up, and behind Sam’s back, Dean skates his hand over the floor to check there isn’t anything disgusting or harmful there before he carefully lays Sam down, settling over him, in the space between his legs that was shaped especially for Dean’s body, he’s sure of it by now.

It’s not really all that long before Sam whispers, “Please, can we,” rocking his hips up into Dean’s, and Dean smiles, presses it into the spot just below Sam’s ear where he’s just been sucking.

Dean moves down his body just a little, replaces the pressure of his hips against Sam’s crotch with the palm of his hand – just resting, firm and steady, letting Sam grind up into it – and starts to litter Sam’s neck with kisses, working his way down. Sam’s hand move to take his t-shirt off but Dean smirks and bats them away, instead sealing his mouth over one of his nipples through the cotton. Sam bucks up and whimpers, so Dean keeps going. He knows there’s gonna be a dark patch there after they’re done – make that a couple, he thinks, as he gives the other the same treatment – and he muses that he’ll take Sam’s jacket and not let him have it back, so they just _have_ to stay down here until his t-shirt dries.

The cotton drags against the sensitive skin and Sam’s hissing and squirming underneath him, when suddenly his fingers curl around the amulet and tug.

“Hey,” Dean says, “ _careful_ , Sam,” because maybe he doesn’t have much faith in Sam’s knot-tying skills.

“Told you, it’s fine,” Sam gasps, tugging harder when Dean scrapes his teeth against him through the damp cotton.

The cord holds.

It holds when Sam uses it to yank Dean up to meet his mouth, locking them in a sloppy, eager kiss full of desperation and teeth, and it holds when Dean slides down Sam’s body, deftly flicks his jeans open and pulls his little cock out, and Sam shudders so hard his grip turns white-knuckled around the amulet.

Dean ends up going down on him, and it holds through that, too. He’s never been too good at taking Sam down all the way, but he can with a little encouragement, and that’s just what he gets. Sam winds the cord around his hand a couple of times amulet safe in his fist as he slides it around to the back of Dean’s neck – and he’s tugging relentlessly on the upstroke, pushing his little, shaky fist insistently on the back of Dean’s neck on the down. All Dean can do is keep his eyes closed and his lips sealed around his baby brother’s dick as Sam haphazardly guides the up-down bob of his head and slide of his mouth – and he can feel the knot, the knot Sam tied that’s holding so damn well, can feel it pressing into his throat, Sam pulling it so tight it near-chokes him every time. He falls in love with the dizziness of it, the way it makes his head reel and his vision swim, but maybe that’s just Sam.

Sam’s loud when he comes, until Dean reaches up to fit a wide palm over his mouth. He muffles his strangled, broken-off cries and whimpers of, “Oh god, oh god, Dean, oh my god,” the thin black cord tightening impossibly around Dean’s throat, marking him with one clear, discernibly red line all the way around, edged with pure white and interrupted somewhere at the base of his throat by the imprint of Sam’s knot. Dean traces the marks with his fingers and wonders wistfully how long they’ll stay.

***

Dean does get a new cord for his amulet. Sam buys it for him while they’re on the road – from a thrift store, ironically enough – and he presents it to him shyly in the back of the Impala, on one of the times Dean had chosen to sit in the back with Sammy and not shotgun with his Dad, and John had just grunted and let him. Dean checks the mirrors, checks his Dad, then leans in and kisses Sam quick and breathless before thanking him with a whisper in his ear.

He changes them over the first chance he gets, but he keeps the old cord with the knot that was beginning to fray at the edges before Sam replaced it. It gets a special place in his duffel and it doesn’t move from there for years afterwards. Even when Dean changes the bag, he slips it in at the bottom with an almost businesslike necessity – it’s not a choice, it’s a part of the duffel and a part of him that he’s not letting go of just yet.

And even after Dean drops the amulet and its intact thread into a motel trash can, any shreds of optimism dashed to the ground and his back turned on Sam, the old cord with Sammy’s repair work all threadbare and unravelling still remains at the bottom of Dean’s duffel. It serves as a hopeful reminder that when all else fails, Sam has the innate ability to pick Dean up and dust him off, to fix him when he’s broken, and to tell him, “It’s fine,” and make it truth.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, feel free to leave a comment/kudos if you liked!


End file.
